


Plane Down

by jrdexex



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Post-Thor: The Dark World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:17:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrdexex/pseuds/jrdexex
Summary: An airman is stuck on the wrong side of a portal to Jotunheim. Imaginably, problems ensue when he accidentally crash-lands into the King's face and kills him a-la-Dorothy. Jotunheim is no place for humans, especially without magical ruby slippers to save the day. All Sasha has are his wits, a destroyed plane, and a mysterious unhelpful talisman that he picked up from Laufey's body. Oh, yeah, and a massive civil war.





	Plane Down

"A long time ago, in a galaxy far away..."

That was the opening line to many of my favorite stories. I always wanted to go to space, to be a swashbuckling smuggler or epic hero. I cosplayed a lot, growing up. My first time, I dressed up as Spock, and went to a small comic convention outside of San Diego. I was living in Liverpool at the time, and used what little savings I had to fly over there. My mother said I should dress up as Checkov, the Russian ensign, because I could speak Russian, and she wanted people to see representation, a rather radical idea in the 80's. 

I studied science, math, did everything you'd need to get to space: joined the military, and kept an active lifestyle so I could qualify. My mom and sister always encouraged me, my sister even took fitness classes with me when we were teenagers. She was stronger than me, which was embarrassing, but I kept at it, joined the RAF, but the stars never really aligned. Great Britain didn't have a big space program and I didn't get in to the international one. I never forgot that dream, but I was able to live a mostly happy life with my nerdy girlfriend, my adorable puppy and most importantly, my family. 

But, I know that's not the story you want to hear.

It all started with a bird. 

* * *

 

 

I was peacefully sleeping in my bed at the base when my phone rings. Stanley's calling me, at the ridiculous hour of 14:00. I work the night shift, which was putting pressure on my relationship with my girlfriend, as I was unavailable for night-time...fun. 

I answer with a groan, wiping my eyes, "What? I'm sleeping? What do you want--"

I'm interrupted with a long stream of talk that doesn't make any sense, at least to my groggy mind. I repeat what Stanley's saying, or at least, the half of his excited yelling that is necessary to drag me out of my bed, "I need to be on the airbase, because they need the best pilots? For fuck's sake."

"Come ON, dude. HUGE THINGS IN THE SKY! NO REASON! SPACE! PLANETS IN THE SKY LIKE YOUR DOCTOR WHO STUFF!" His excited voice irritates me and I hang up, dragging myself out of bed and getting dressed.

Although mildly touched that he remembered that marathon from a few years ago, I'm still feeling groggy, grumpy and half-convinced he's either pulling my leg or I'm dreaming.

As it turns out, I was not dreaming and he was not pulling my leg. I drink a bracingly hot cup of coffee as I begin my pre-flight checks. Quite a few other pilots are visibly excited, this sort of phenomenon wasn't common at all, and it was a chance to get a crazy story or show off. I just want to go back to sleep, space or no space.

I would have been able to go right home, if I hadn't been this tired. I was struggling with staying awake, let alone accidentally flying into another dimension. My eyes shut for just one second, and a huge eagle (?) hits my window with a loud thunk. According to now-stressfully loud radio chatter, the world underneath us is gorgeous, not that I can _see_ anything with the massive brown bird bleeding on my fighter. I can feel pockets of air turbulence, and I'm starting to freak out--my pulse is racing, and my hand is shaking on my flight controls. A lot of buttons are blinking at me, and I've completely forgotten what they all do. One starts beeping at me, and that's not good. 

I can't get the bird off the window, I'm desperately trying to get it off, babbling somewhat incoherently into the radio, asking for help. It looks like its clinging on for dear life as I try to shake it off. It probably is, but I need it off so I don't crash land into this new world. One of its wings, the one on the right-hand side looks like its broken, a bone protruding from the top of the joint that connects it to its body. It screams, and I am disturbed enough to think it sounds human. Its talons are breaking through the bulletproof glass and blood's starting to pool on the glass. I can smell it. 

On the radio chatter, I hear Green freaking out at the small village below him because it apparently looks rustic and cute.

Stanley's nerding out about how "Strike Squadron Delta, We're the first humans on a new planet! At least, probably. Dude, what the hell is that noise?" The noise he's referring to is me, yelling about falling into the ground.

I'm frantically trying to steer. I try to say something sensible-- anything really, a , "Something's on my window and I can't get it off."

Or a, "Its so cool we're here, but I have a bird on my window, and I can't see anything, and there _are no windshield wipers, and I can't open the top--what if this alien place has poisonous airand I landhere to get this off and I die and--"_

At that point, my mind's derailed from thinking about and trying to communicate useful information, to a full-blown panic attack. All I can manage is a tiny croak, as my eyes start to water and my hands manically grip the steering controls. I'm white-knuckled from the effort. The hawk, eagle, bloody big bird with claws is screaming too. I could barely feel my cold as ice hands, I could barely breathe. I'm crashing!

I'm _crashing_.

I'm crashing out of the nice rustic charming universe, and into the dark and silence. I can't see anything. A geyser of snowy earth crashes in front and over the top of the plane, shoving the hawk off and crashing to the ground.

I panic.

I lose track of what is happening, the moment I think I hear a thunderous bone-type cracking sound. I close my eyes and try to breathe. I'm crying like a baby and cannot stop. It is getting even more terrifying, as the new place I was in dropped the temperature of the cockpit to below freezing as my tears were starting to solidify. I can't see what is outside, and its dark. The bird's still covering the window, but no red light seeps through its feathers. 

I put on my headphones and let my phone light the cockpit so I can find a real flashlight. Soft music echoes in my ears and help settle me down, at least a bit. I click on the flashlight and crawl to the back of the plane to get an inventory of what I had. I didn't bring much. An old oatmeal bar was in there, probably from the last pilot. There was also a half full, and now completely frozen water bottle, a crowbar, and a toolbox.  At least I brought my gun and my iPhone, not that I had any service. It was going to run out of battery within a day, and living on a new planet with no wifi and no charger is something that will make future me very sad. I flip off my music and hear the howling wind.

I grab everything and get out of the fighter, looking at it, to see and access whether I can fix it, and wondering if that would do any good. I doubted it would, but it distracted me from my increasingly depressing thoughts, like  _I'm going to freeze to death in space, and never speak to anyone I love ever again._ I shone a light on a large blue hand sticking out of the snow, under my plane. I drop the flashlight. 

My first thought is, _Oh, god, I've killed an alien_. Dropping everything, I try my best to dig the alien out of the large snowdrift. I know it is unlikely for me to succeed, but I try anyways. I hack at the snow which is now ice. I'm unimpressed with my negligible ice chips. I kneel on the ground, in defeat, next to the hand. It isn't going to work. I touch the hand. Its cold, but I can feel some sort of fading heartbeat, as my ungloved hand loses its feeling. I softly squeeze it. 

"..I'm sorry," I say, mumbling against the polar wind, rushing against my face. "I'm... really sorry." The hand slowly releases something it had been holding. I don't immediately drop the hand, still doing my best to offer what comfort I can, although I'm definitely fighting my curiosity about seeing what this alien has just dropped. My years of video game plundering are not quiet in my mind, but I refuse to let go until I feel the heartbeat stop. I wish I wasn't crying, the ice on my face was burning.

I look down at my miscolored hand to see a beautifully crafted yellow ring. It glows faintly in the dark. I decide to put it in my pocket and follow its tracks that lead to here. Hopefully, I will find some warmth, shelter, and food where the alien came from, and be able to tell them the news that this person is dead. 


End file.
